Tag Archives: walking

Illuminations on this January weekend.

church, poetry, Psalms, Theophany, , , ,

At Vespers last night, the lighting was unusual, in that electric lights had been turned on in the dome; typically we do without those, and in the winter it means that we see the icon of the Pantocrator only dimly. Because the amount of light, and the angle at which it enters through the cathedral windows, is always in flux, every service at every time of day is differently illumined — but the effect is always sublime.

Over the last two days, at church and on my neighborhood path, I was warmed by the beauty of physical lights, not separate from their symbolic role: They represent and mysteriously convey the presence of Christ Who is, as the Evangelist said, “The true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.”

Today was the Leavetaking of Theophany, and I was the chanter of the Third and Sixth Hour prayers before the service. On Sundays we always have hymns of the Resurrection, and usually hymns of that Sunday’s feast or saints as well. It was the Kontakion of Theophany that got my attention this morning:

On this day Thou hast appeared unto the whole world,
And Thy light, O Sovereign Lord,
is signed on us who sing Thy praise,
and chant with knowledge:
Thou hast now come, Thou hast appeared,
O Light Unapproachable.

As soon as I returned after church, I (shock!!!) changed my clothes and went for a walk. We had been surprised by the sun coming out in the afternoon, so it was delightful out there. Even though the creek was muddy from rain, the light shining on it made it lovely.

And I practiced Psalm 89 some more. Reading the same lines and stanzas over and over, thinking of links to help me transition from one thought to another, has been the most rewarding kind of meditation; the theology and the poetry fill my heart, certainly in much  the same way as one line states:

We were filled in the morning with Thy mercy, O Lord,
And we rejoiced and were glad.

But this line is in the latter half of the psalm, when the mood has turned upward. A few stanzas before, the psalmist is considering how in the evening man “shall fall and grow withered and dry.” “We have fainted away,” “our days are faded away… our years like a spider have spun out their tale,” and “Return, O Lord, how long?”

Withered and dry, but still handsome.

I have looked at two other translations of the Psalm, one of them a different version of the Septuagint, and compared with the one I am using (see sidebar note), to me they both are clunky and harder to read, though they do have many of the same vivid images that help me to learn this poem.

I stopped a couple of times on my walk to sit on a bench and think about these things. And when I got home again I looked at the notes in the Orthodox Study Bible, which points out that this is “a morning prayer designed to keep one focused on the Lord rather than on this temporal life and its hopelessness. For He exists outside time, and is therefore our only refuge…. It is read daily at the First Hour.” 

There are many references to morning and evening, days and years, and our lifespan being “in the light of Thy countenance.” But one reason I have wanted to learn the whole prayer poem is the last verse, whose first line brings me back to “Thy light is signed on us” in the hymn we read and sang this morning:

And let the brightness of the Lord our God be upon us,
and the works of our hands do Thou guide aright upon us,
Yea, the work of our hands do Thou guide aright.

Winter food and flowers.

books, food and cooking, Psalms, , , , ,

Last night the women’s book group of my parish met at my house to discuss Summer Lightning by Wodehouse, and The Holy Angels by Mother Alexandra. I cooked up two pots of soup, and the other women brought rustic loaves of bread and salad and dessert.

Long ago I had got the idea of Cuban Black Beans from the Laurel’s Kitchen cookbook, and devised a soup with the same name to eat in winter, when the fresh and raw veggies the book’s authors suggested for a topping weren’t available from the garden out back. Now in the era of internet recipes, I discovered several recipes for the soup, and they used a sofrito, added in the last stage of cooking, made up of the peppers, garlic and onion sauteed with olive oil and bacon, topped off with vinegar and spices. This is what my sofrito looked like:

The beans in this case are cooked with ham hocks at the beginning, so it ends up a meaty and flavorful bowl for a winter’s evening. Mine was just the amount of spicy I wanted, but I’m not sure I could replicate that next time, if there is a next time. I had printed out three recipes from online, and concocted a unique stew, using parts of all of them and my old recipe, too. It took two pounds of beans, and I had plenty to send home with a few guests, as well as to put in the freezer. Because we also had Florentine Spinach Soup, which I have posted about before. Overall the women liked the soups very much.

Thanks to our member who enjoys coming up with appropriately themed foods for our meetings, we ate angel food cake last night as well! I hadn’t read the Jeeves book that was discussed, but I did read The Holy Angels, and I plan to share a bit about that soon. We all thought it was a treasure.

This morning I actually took my walk before breakfast — that mostly because I ate breakfast so late. Now that I’m putting a high priority on walking, I need to keep re-setting it at the top of my mental list, so I don’t forget. One of these days I’m sure I will forget, and then (note to self) I’ll need to take a quick spin around the block in the dark, just before bed. I wonder if this is one of those behaviors that becomes a habit if you do it every day for three weeks?

I worked some more on Psalm 89 as I walked, and the beauty of its poetry did not distract me from the startling sights along the way, whose images I have shared here. One line from the Psalm:

So make Thy right hand known to me,
And to them that in their heart
Are instructed in wisdom.

Amen.

Walking with Moses and rain.

my garden, poetry, Psalms, winter, , , , , , , , , , ,

This morning was frosty enough to make ice in my garden fountain. I wore a thick wool sweater to church, and kept it on until I got home again five hours later and changed into my firewood clothes. Both the supply of logs near the wood stove and the nice rack I have in the garage needed replenishing from the stacks outside. I bring in a dozen or so logs at a time to dry out, and to have handy when it’s raining or just dark and I don’t want to go out.

Opposite that rack I have tubs and boxes and bags of kindling and newspapers, a place to split the kindling, and a bucket for collecting ashes. I don’t see how I’m ever going to make room for my car in the garage, which has been a minor goal for a couple of years now. That space serves as my pantry and laundry room and tool shed, and holds all the sorts of things that my daughter Pearl says you have to keep in the garage if you don’t have a basement.

The little guy below came in with a load of logs; the young house guests squealed and their mother scooped him out of the fireplace corner into a dustpan. He was trying to fall out of it, so I picked him up and tried to hold him in such a way that the children could look at him for a bit. But they would have none of it, and just wanted him out of the house, so I let him out the back door into the rain. I hope it washed him of all the woody litter.

The pewter wise men have arrived, after journeying across the table in my entry, to take up their worshipful positions in front of the Christ Child. I’ve removed a small amount of Christmas decor, mostly the fresh cotoneaster berries that weren’t fresh anymore. The redwood branches and candles remain, because they have life left in them, at least for today. And the faux tree will last as long as I want it to, which is, until I have some mental space to give to it.

For now, I have too many other projects going on. Writing thank-you letters to a few grandchildren, cooking soup for our women’s book group this week, and maybe a two hour trip to see my niece — just in this week.

At the same time, I am working on new habits. For more than a week now, I have taken a walk every day, outdoors, not on the treadmill. This was the scene on the bike path less than a week ago; can you see the leaves falling?

Since then we got a big dumping of rain, and the leaves aren’t so pretty anymore. One day I walked my old two-mile loop and it was quite delicious, because everything — the trees and earth and grass, and especially the air — was wet and refreshing and not cold. I wore my rain jacket and was prepared for a sprinkle, but when I was still ten minutes from home I got fairly drenched. Excitement like this has been adding to my general winter happiness.

Even before I read an encouraging article about the value of memorizing things, I had been planning to renew my effort in the coming year to learn some Psalms and possibly other poems by heart. “The Great Forgetting,” by Ruth Gaskovski, about “How ‘critical thinking’ and outsourcing of memory are withering culture, and how to turn the tide,” is giving me a boost.

Last year — or even before? — I had started to memorize Psalm 90 and 91 (89 and 90 in the Septuagint), and then lost my focus. This year, so far, I have noticed how my memorizing project coordinates nicely with my improved walking habits. I have the psalms written on 3×5 cards and can practice them as I stroll along — unless it’s one of those rainy days.

Here are the first few verses I am working on:

Psalm 89 — A Prayer of Moses, the man of God

Lord, Thou hast been our refuge in generation and generation.

Before the mountains came to be and the earth was formed and the world,
even from everlasting to everlasting Thou art.

Turn not man away unto lowliness; yea, Thou hast said: Turn back, ye sons of men.

For a thousand years in Thine eyes, O Lord, are but as yesterday that is past,
and as a watch in the night.

Things of no account shall their years be; in the morning like grass shall man pass away.

In the morning shall he bloom and pass away; in the evening shall he fall
and grow withered and dry.

The poetry of these verses, the rhythm of their music and the depth of meaning, as I tell them to myself phrase by phrase, is so beautiful to my mind and heart. Glory to God!

The Prophet Moses

Blessed Monday

nature, , ,

Monday is usually for me a recuperative day when I try to stay home and catch up with myself after a lot of Sunday “output.” It didn’t happen the same way today, because I wanted to get to the post office early and mail lots of Christmas packages. It was a cold but not freezing, clear and sunny day, and once I was relieved of my burdens, I knew I would take a walk.

It’s very strange, how for more than a year I have been stubbornly averse to the long-familiar walks in my neighborhood. Is it “familiarity breeds contempt”? But as I always say, every day is different out there, and if you can’t see that, then certainly week by week you would notice, that the plants and the weather are obviously different, so that it is not the same place you are walking. I still didn’t care.

Autumn, after the rains, always tries to pull me out for an explore. But until today, I resisted. I had too much on my mind, on the calendar, and didn’t feel the freedom. It was a providential synchronicity that today, when I am transitioning into the remainder of Advent, the weather was perfect for it. As soon as I neared the creek the heady scents filled my head — of wet earth and leaves, infused with the sweetness of fennel seeds fermenting in the dampness.

We’ve had enough rain that the sheep in the pasture had plenty of bright green grass to graze on, and I think it made the fall colors extra bright. And my mood was bright. Now on to cookie baking!